


your lips, my lips, apocalypse

by traumatic



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: (not between e and i), (not between even and isak!!!!), Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Angst with a Happy Ending, Broken Promises, Desperation, Developing Friendships, Emotional Manipulation, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Isolation, Loneliness, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nicknames, No Smut, Past Sexual Assault, Physical Abuse, Post-Break Up, Requited Unrequited Love, Suicide, Therapy, any of the bad abusive shit is not between even and isak, eventually, mentioned - Freeform, more like threatened?? in an abusive way? also not between e/i
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:53:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25836043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traumatic/pseuds/traumatic
Summary: "It's kind of hard to talk right now.""I'm sorry. I just didn't know who else to call."or where Isak's boyfriend has a bad temper, Even's living with a girl he should love but doesn't, and everyone's desperately, painfully, obviously alone.
Relationships: Even Bech Næsheim/Isak Valtersen, Even Bech Næsheim/Sonja (SKAM), Julian Dahl/Isak Valtersen, past isak/chris (chris isn't even in this otherwise ok)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 193





	1. lips of an angel

**Author's Note:**

> title from apocalypse by cigarettes after sex, which, to me, feels like the perfect song for this fic, even though the fic itself was inspired by a different one. inspiration started with lips of an angel by hinder, which my mom played a lot growing up, but spiraled into this. 
> 
> hope you enjoy! also there's a serious DV warning! it's referenced, meaning i didn't write out the scenes where it happens, just the aftermath, but still. be careful, kids.

Even has felt like this for a while now. He hasn't felt whole since it happened. Since the love of his life broke up with him. He shattered after the break-up, like a plate knocked to the floor, broken into jagged, uneven pieces, and it feels like Isak stole one when he absconded, when he left. Even knows it’s missing, is aware of the gaping hole left by its absence, knows he’s never going to get it back, but it still aches. 

He's sort of gotten used to it, though, because he doesn’t have a choice. He's gotten used to the feeling of new arms wrapped around him, the sweet scent of her perfume, the new feeling of her mouth on his. He's even gotten used to the sharp way she asks if he's taken his medication in the mornings, which is something Even is sure he'll never get over, because Isak never asked. Isak cared, but he never had to ask, because he knew he could trust Even to do it on his own. 

Even’s mom used to say, “You can get used to anything”, but he never understood it; not until now, at least.

He's gotten so used to living like this that he's fine with it. He’s repressed the yearning for the taste of Marlboro smoke and toothpaste, and the feeling of chapped lips against his own, because he's not stupid. He'll never have that again and he has to move on, even if there's no closure, no stitches, holding him together. Even if a text message from Isak or a like on a picture on Instagram could tear him back apart in seconds. 

Sonja deserves better, though. She deserves to be loved unconditionally. 

With Even, there are always conditions, though. It's not even something he can truly help, either, so he's fucked if he does and fucked if he doesn't. He just hopes she knew what she was getting into when she fell in love with a man who can’t seem to hold a relationship down no matter how hard he tries. 

Sonja doesn't know that he contemplates releasing her back into the world like a tiger after an injury, because she's blinded by her love for Even. Her feelings make him ignorant to the torrential downpour in Even's chest and it's maddening sometimes to be around someone so clueless. She doesn't even know Even  _ had _ an Isak and lost him, because how could Even talk about it? Talk about how fucked up he still is over a boy who probably doesn’t give a shit about him anymore? Talk about how he was so crushed after the break up, almost 3 years ago, that he couldn’t get out of bed for weeks? 

So Sonja has no idea he even existed. 

She sleeps beside him now, light hair tangled and shining in the dim light. She is ethereal and eternal and the brightest person Even knows. She holds herself as she sleeps, arms tucked close against her chest, and Even wonders if that's a subliminal message for him. 

The only person who can truly, selflessly love you is yourself. You only have you. Even only has Even. Sonja only has Sonja. Isak only has Isak. 

He sighs and twists a long piece of Sonja’s thin hair around his finger absently, definitely not wishing it was shorter and blonder and smelled of something sweet and sharp, like mint and cold air and cigarettes.

Even’s phone buzzes on the table beside him and he reaches for it, answering without pausing to look at the caller ID to avoid waking her with its ringtone.

“Hello?” 

There's a long pause, a harsh breath; Even waits, trying to be quiet. 

“Even?” 

Everything stops. His blood isn't pumping through his veins anymore, his watch isn't ticking. Sonja doesn't move beside him, doesn't even breathe, but everything else careens off course. Even the entire earth stops mid rotation to gawk at them. 

“Isak.” 

“I...I...Hi.” 

Even is speechless. They haven't spoken in two years, haven't seen each other in 3. It feels like something dangerous and exciting and Even hates himself for liking the thrill of a secret. Of a tiny moment that is just for the two of them. 

Sonja has done nothing but love Even with all her heart and she doesn't deserve the shit Even's about to put her through. 

Even vows to end the call, for her alone. 

“It's kinda hard to talk right now,” Even whispers. 

“I'm...I’m sorry. I just didn't know who else to call.” He's crying, Even realizes. 

Even sits up, withdrawing himself from Sonja’s body heat to walk out into the kitchen on cold feet. The tiles feel like ice under his bare feet. 

“What's wrong?” 

“My boyfriend. He...uh...he hit me...again. He pushed away all my friends and my mom...died last summer, so I have no one who doesn’t hate me to call. Maybe you hate me, too...You have every reason to.”

Marianne’s dead? If Even had known...maybe he’d have gone to her funeral. Maybe he’d have seen Isak. Maybe a maybe means nothing at all. 

“So I guess I'm alone now and I don't...have anyone else to turn to.” 

Even can almost see him in front of him again, can almost imagine the look on his face as he cries. He'd only seen his tears once before, but it's a sight that was burned into his brain. Isak's best friend, Eva, had been brutally assaulted almost 8 years ago and almost died. Isak spent hours sitting in the waiting room, not allowed to see her, because while he was the only family Eva truly had, he wasn’t family at all. He had cried and cried and cried until he was laying in Even’s lap with dry, emotionless eyes and shaking with exhaustion. Emotionally, Isak was never quite the same, but Even held him together. Picked up the pieces. At least for the next 5 years. 

If he has to, he’ll do it again. He can do it. 

“You can always call me,” Even says. “We were always great friends. We should've never stopped being friends.”

His mind is whirling, though. Too much to process in too little time. Too early in the morning. 

“Are you okay? Where is he?” 

“I'm...uh...The bleeding stopped, but I can't open my eye. Also I'm locked in a closet.” 

“Did you lock yourself in or did he…?” 

_ “He _ did.” 

“Oh, my God, love,” Even whispers painfully. “Why didn’t you call the police?” 

Their number is a lot easier to remember than Even's, after all. He knows the cops suck generally, but at least they’d probably let Isak out of the closet. 

“Didn't want to. Just wanted to talk to you. Hear you say my name and tell me it was gonna be alright again.” 

Even, beside himself and feeling awful for feeling something light in the midst of such shit, smiles pitifully. Starts making a cup of tea, because his hands feel so empty without someone to hold in them. 

“Isak,” Even whispers, clutching the phone hard in his fist, “it's gonna be alright.” 

There's a long pause where neither of them do anything but breathe. This is what Even misses most when he talks to Sonja. He misses the quiet sound of Isak's breathing, the rasp from too many years of smoking, the rise and fall of his chest. He misses it all so much and it comes back to him in waves of sorrow, because he can have none of it. Not anymore. Never again. 

“Do you need me to come get you?” 

Surely he still lives in the city. He'd once told Even that the honking taxis and the indifferent New Yorkers filled his chest like oxygen and blood, so how could he ever leave a place he obviously loved deeply? 

Even would rush out in the middle of the night for him in a heartbeat. Even if he wasn’t stateside anymore. 

“No, no. He'll let me out soon, I think. He usually feels bad very quickly after.” 

Even hesitates, but asks anyway. He's always been blunt and honest with Isak and he doesn't know how to be any other way. Doesn’t want to even try to figure it out. 

“Why don't you leave?” 

“Where would I go?” His voice is flat, exhausted, resigned. 

They both go silent again and Even wonders what he should say. He decides and does it without thinking about the consequences. 

“Here. With me.” And my fucking girlfriend. 

Even's a moron. 

“What?” 

“I'd do anything to help you,” Even admits honestly. 

“I know.” 

“Isak, we were so close for so long. We were best friends...and I...I miss the sound of your voice. I miss your jokes. I miss your smile.” 

“I miss you, too,” he whispers. 

Time stretches out and the quiet settles between them like an overbearing cat, sitting on Even's is a way that hurts so terribly that he can't help but move. Would otherwise suffocate on fur and pain and anxiety. 

“How's Jonas?” Even asks because the silence of their admissions is too much to bear. 

“I don't know. Haven't seen him since last Fourth of July. Haven’t seen Magnus in almost two years.” 

Even got Mahdi in their breakup, but Isak kept Jonas and Magnus. They’d all been friends at one time, had spent hours in each other’s houses, laughing and teasing and being teenagers together. 

But none of them are kids anymore. And Isak is truly alone. 

“Isak?” Even whispers. 

“Yeah?” 

“You can’t live like this.” 

“I know.”

* * *

Even goes back to bed eventually. Isak’s shitty boyfriend lets him out finally and Even can hear when his cell phone drops to the floor, can hear him begging for Isak’s forgiveness and crying about how he didn’t mean it. The sound of his pleading makes Even gag, so he hangs up. 

Sits at the counter for a few more moments. Puts his mug in the sink and slips into bed beside Sonja. 

When he wakes in the morning, Even doesn’t tell her about the phone call. Doesn’t even really think about it. Instead, he gets ready for work and kisses her on the mouth as a goodbye. 

Goes on with his life. 

He thinks about Isak from time to time over the next couple months, but mostly does it with anxiety, whereas he used to think about him with sorrow. He worries Isak’s in trouble, in true danger, and he hopes he gets the help he needs. He hopes that someone’s around to give it to him, because Even is unable to. 

He doesn’t hear from Isak for almost 7 months. He doesn’t try to call him, though, because it’s not his place. Isak decided all those years ago that he didn’t want Even anymore, didn’t even want to see him, so he won’t bother him. Won’t force his presence on someone who probably hated his guts for a long time. 

But then, over half a year later, another call. 3:42am. 

Even answers blindly, eyes squinting against the blinding light, Sonja groaning about shutting the goddamn phone up. 

“Hello?” 

“Can you talk?” 

Even wakes up immediately, sobered by the sound of Isak’s voice. It has the same emotion in it as last time. Still sad and afraid and timid and pained. 

Even would never in a million years have described Isak as timid, but here they are. Two people chained together with handcuffs by their pasts. A neverending story, as it were. 

“Yeah, yeah.” 

Even looks back over Sonja’s sleeping body, at her pale pink fingernails and the soft movement of her breathing, and sighs. Feels like shit. Gets up and goes out to the kitchen anyway. 

“What’s wrong? Did it happen again?” 

Isak sobs and Even feels the waves of anxiety lapping at his toes again. Feels helpless and worthless, like he’s a baby trapped in an adult world, because he has no fucking clue what he’s doing. No clue how to help Isak escape this hell. 

“I just wanted to hear your voice,” Isak whispers. “I’m so scared.” 

“Why?” 

“You still make me feel...like I’m home. Whenever I’m scared, I just...I wanna call you.” 

Even’s heart breaks, because he feels the same way. Isak is and always will be home. 

He says nothing, because saying that isn’t an option when his girlfriend is twenty-five feet away, but he knows it’s true. 

“Why are you afraid?” 

“He was screaming and throwing shit and he...accidentally…” 

“What did he do?” 

Even’s mouth is dry; he grips the phone tighter in his hand. 

“He knocked me over with a vase.” 

“Oh, my God. Are you alright? Do you need me to call an ambulance?” 

“I’m okay. A little battered, but okay.”

“Isak, you  _ have _ to call someone.” 

Even isn’t a cop, he isn’t a counselor. Even is just Even, is just a simple elementary school teacher. He can’t do much at all to help Isak except give him advice. 

“I called  _ you.”  _

Even’s heart breaks. He shuts his eyes and swallows hard around an unexpected bout of tears, because he has to be calm. The boy who Even almost married is in trouble and he has to be rational about it. 

Still, it takes Even a moment to reply and even then his voice is aggravatingly thick. 

“Isak…” 

“I’m gonna figure it out, but I just need the courage to know that I can, you know? I...I  _ have _ to figure it out.” 

“Okay. I’m here for you...You know that, right? No matter what happened in the past...I’m here.” 

“I know,” Isak whispers. “You always were, even when...even when I was awful, when I fucked you over for Chris.” 

“How is Chris? Spoken to him?” Even’s voice is tight. 

He coughs to loosen it up, but it sounds fake even to his ears. Maybe Even would miss Chris if he hadn’t told him he ruins everything he touches, hadn’t yelled at him so harshly he’d begged him to stop, hadn’t struck him with the knuckles on his right hand so hard his nose broke. 

“Saw him in Walmart a couple months ago with Eva.” 

Eva. Where is she? How has she allowed Isak be dragged down and away? Why hadn’t she helped her? 

“How’s Eva, then?” 

“Dunno.” Her voice shakes. “Haven’t spoken to her in almost a year.” 

“What? What happened?” 

“What always happens. Julian.” He sounds so defeated, so broken down. 

It breaks Even’s fucking heart. 

“So that’s his name, then? Julian?” 

“You don’t remember him? He’s...We graduated with him and he sorta knew William...you know, Noora’s ex?” 

“You’re dating a penetrator?” Even wrinkles his nose. 

Leave it to one of the penetrators, or the Phi Delts as they’d been more formally known as, to be abusive. Fucking fraternities. 

Even doesn’t remember this specific asshole, but he can make an assumption over what he’s probably like. Pompous, blindly privileged, arrogant, violent, hyper masculine, xenophobic. 

“He used to be one, but he...he...changed. Really.” 

“There was a gay penetrator?” A pressing question. 

Surely there had been some, but they’d been closeted by society and internalized homphobia and their frat brothers, destined to marry someone they would never be attracted to, inevitable to divorce and mid-life crisis. 

“He wasn’t out then, but he is now. I’ve met his mom.” 

“I see.” Even does see, but he can’t let on how much. “Are you still local?” 

“Kinda, not really. We live in Jersey now.” 

“You left the city?” Even is shocked. “You love the city.” 

Isak grew up here, spent his years running through traffic when it was dead stopped, listening to the sounds of car horns as background music, breathing in smoke and smog and garbage. He loved the life New York has, lived and breathed the caustic New Yorker experience. This city is as much a part of him as he was of it. So what changed so exponentially to tear him from everything he ever knew? 

Even knows the answer, knows the pain Isak’s enduring, and he fills with anger and despair. Two emotions that usually do not exist within Even’s brain. 

“Julian doesn’t like the noise, so we found a place outside of it. Hightstown.” 

Even is at a loss for words, so he says nothing. Just thinks of what Isak’s life is like now, spent in a smalltown he’s never lived in before, with a violent, abusive boyfriend who isolated him from everyone he’s ever known. 

It’s such a sad existence, such a sad thought, that tears flood Even’s eyes. His Isak, the boy he grew up with who was so alight with life that he radiated it like sunlight. He lit up Even’s dark and dreary life like the sun sharing its rays with the moon. 

Now the tides have turned and the moon has to support the sun. Has to bring him up from his lowest point. Protect him from the darkness. 

“How far from the city?” 

“An hour or so drive...but I don’t…” 

“You  _ still _ don’t drive?” Even tries to laugh, but fails. 

Isak tried and tried and tried to pass the test, but he couldn't parallel park to save his life. Plus, Isak’s family only owned the one car and his dad took it with him when he divorced Isak’s mom, so Isak had nothing to practice on after age 17. 

“No,” Isak’s voice is rueful. “Julian drives me anywhere I need to go, though.” 

Need, not want. Even bets Julian likes having Isak so dependent on him to survive. Disgusting. 

“Can I ask you something?” Even whispers, setting some water to boil on the stove. 

“Yes.” 

“Why do you stay? What could possibly outweigh the violence?” 

“It’s not so simple…” His breath catches and Even remembers suddenly that he’s still locked in a closet. “It’s not a scale of good or bad. All people are a mix of both.” 

“And he’s proven he’s more bad than good, Isak.” 

“You don’t  _ know _ him. Sometimes, he’s so good to me that it hurts.” 

Even sighs through his nose, closes his eyes, and rubs at his eye with his hand in frustration. 

“If he loved you, he would  _ never _ hurt you.” 

“That can’t be true,” Isak says softly, barely there at all. “It can’t be, because I hurt you so badly and I love you.” 

“That’s different,” Even says, voice cracking, and he feels it again. 

The missing shard of glass in his chest to make him whole. He’s so aware of its absence that he feels lost and aches in agony. 

“How?” 

“Because you didn’t break up with me and then beg me to fuck you again, Isak. You cut all ties and didn’t ask for my forgiveness just to do it over and over again, because you didn’t  _ want _ to hurt me. Julian is prolonging your suffering, because he enjoys it. He takes pleasure in hurting you...or he wouldn’t do it at all.” 

He says nothing, but Even can hear his breathing. Isak coughs raggedly, sobs a little, and then whimpers. 

“Where would I go anyway? What would I  _ do?”  _

“You’d go somewhere safe. With me or with Jonas or with Magnus or Mahdi. Eva would take you in, you know.” 

“I couldn’t put that burden on them.”

“What  _ burden?” _ The kettle is whistling, so he removes it from the heat and pours it into a mug. “There’d be no burden, Isak, because they’d know you’re safe.” 

“Safe?” 

“As houses, Is.” Even’s been saying that since he was little. 

Isak used to think it was funny, because he’d never heard it before. He used to laugh and smile so brightly when Even said it that it became a metaphor for hope and joy and love. 

Isak makes a sound so pained it breaks Even’s heart all over again at the phrase. It’s the same noise he made after Eva was viciously assaulted all those years ago. Defeated and agonized and broken. 

“I  _ miss _ you,” he says softly, still in that fragile voice. “I’m sorry I did that to you.” 

“It’s okay,” Even promises. “I forgave you a long time ago...and I...I miss you, too.” 

“I think he’s home,” Isak whispers. “Will you stay on the phone until he lets me out?” 

“Of course.” 

“You still live in the city?” Isak asks, voice calming down, breath evening out. 

“Yeah. I teach 4st grade in Manhattan.” 

“You  _ live _ in  _ Manhattan?”  _

“I didn’t say that,” Even laughs. “Not on a teacher’s salary, I don't.” 

Isak laughs a little, too, and it makes Even sad again as he sloshes some cream into his mug. 

“Do you remember Sana from high school?” Even asks suddenly. 

“Yeah, of course.” 

“She got me the job teaching in some swanky posh private school, because her dad’s the dean there. I owe her a lot, because this job is the best I’ve ever had. She’s kinda my best friend.” 

Isak’s laugh, short and blunt, is odd. Like he’s trying to hide that he’s upset about something. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing, nothing. I just...It’s weird, isn’t it?” He coughs again. “Hearing you call someone else your best friend. It’s just weird.” 

“Oh,” Even says softly. “I guess it would be. We were best friends for so long.” 

“I wish we still were.” 

“That’s my fault, really,” Even admits with a weary smile. “I wanted more than just friends so badly.” 

“So did I, though. I’d been in love with you since 3rd grade.” 

This is a topic they didn’t much discuss. Requited love doesn’t require much communication, once it’s known it’s shared. 

Even didn’t know Isak had loved him for that long. They met in the 1st grade, so, at 26, they’ve known each other for pretty much 2 decades. 

“I think I realized I loved you at Emma’s graduation. You were still dating girls, then, and we were only friends and...and when Emma’s class threw their caps into the air and everyone raced onto the grass...You kissed her, remember? And the way she held you, the embrace you shared, I realized I was jealous.” 

Even was 16 and foolishly in love with his best friend who, for all intents and purposes, only dated older girls and was straight. He even made mildly offensive gay jokes, which perhaps was just internalized homophobia. Isak’s dad was kind of an asshole about that kind of stuff and taught it all to him growing up. His mom was a super Christian, so that surely didn’t help.

“When did we get so fucked up?” Isak whispers, sounding exhausted and upset. “Everything used to be perfect.” 

“It did...but that’s growing up, I guess. Shit gets chaotic.” 

“I have to go now,” Isak whispers. “He’s coming.” 

“Alright.” Even is hesitant to hang up, but he doesn’t really have a choice. “Call me soon so I know you’re okay.” 

“I will. Good night, Even.” And then he hangs up. 

Even sits in his kitchen for a while with his phone still pressed to his ear and thinks. He doesn’t do anything but stare into the distance and chew on the inside of his cheek. 

How can he help Isak get out of that situation? No one deserves that. Not even the boy who broke Even’s heart so badly he couldn’t get out of bed for weeks. 

He sits down after a while to drink his tea, which has gone a little cold, and decides he can check in with some of Isak’s friends. Just to see what they know. 

Even doesn’t have Eva’s number, so he finds her Instagram and DMs her. 

_ Hey, Eva. Long time no see. Have u heard from Isak? _

Short, sweet, and to the point. Even wasn’t really close with Eva to begin with. Messaging Jonas is a little more complicated, since he hasn’t spoken to him since their break up. 

_ Hey _

He doesn’t know what else to start with, so that seems like a safe option. 

Eventually, he makes his way through the short list and finds himself at a loss. No one’s going to answer him this early in the morning, so he should probably go to bed, but he can’t help himself. He types in Isak’s old Insta handle and finds his account. His picture is of him and a dark-haired guy with round glasses, but the rest is private. 

Makes sense, in the scheme of things, but unfortunate for Even’s sleuthing. He searches for William Magnussen, Noora’s ex, on Eva’s following list and finds him. Then he looks through who  _ he _ follows to find Julian Dahl. 

He looks vaguely familiar, sort of cute in an objective way that only works for him if Even can disregard the fact that he’s abusive and controlling and gross. There aren’t any photos of Isak at all. HIs bio, even, doesn’t mention having a boyfriend or being in love or anything. 

**Julian, 27**

**the best of me is yet to come**

Asshole. What kind of person doesn’t even post a picture of their significant other? How proud could they be to be with you? 

Even shakes his head in irritation and frustration. 

“Even?” Sonja says, startling him. “What’re you doing?”

She’s standing in the doorway, rubbing at her eye with his fist, looking tired. She’s in her pajamas, a long t-shirt and shorts, and her hair is up. She looks beautiful, so beautiful that it hurts. Even’s also in pain, because she doesn’t know. She won’t know. She can’t know.

It’s absolutely terrible, but Even can’t tell her about Isak. It’s not his secret to share anyway and it’s not like they’re meeting up to have sex. They just talk over the phone about the past and what could’ve been. 

“Sorry I couldn’t sleep.” He hopes it doesn’t sound like the lie it is. “Didn’t want to wake you.” 

“Oh, alright,” she says and then yawns. “I was worried about you.” 

Even knows why she worries. Knows she’s thinking of the orange bottle with the white lid in the medicine cabinet that she sometimes checks to be sure he’s not skipping doses. Of the parts of his brain that don’t produce the right amount of chemicals to keep him sane that she so regularly obsesses over. 

“I’ll be in soon. Go to bed, love.” 

She nods, squinting at him, and then turns and disappears. Even’s guilt doesn’t, though. He’s not sure it ever will. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think? honestly, i'm just trying to fill up my life with writing stuff lately so things are getting a little out of hand...


	2. open hand or closed fist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blood, sweat, tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an update for you guys! college just started back up for me, so if you're reading any of my wips, bear with me! 
> 
> chapter name from cherry wine by hozier

Even wakes the next morning to the buzz of his alarm. A regular Wednesday morning. When he reaches for his phone to snooze his alarm, he notices a notification from Instagram. 

Instantly, he’s awake and sitting up, unlocking his phone to see who responded. To see if they know anything at all about Isak’s predicament and if they can help. 

_Hey Even! It really has been a while lol. Haven’t heard from Isak in months, but it’s just bc his new bf doesn’t like me. we should catch up though!_

Even deflates a little. She definitely doesn’t know and he’s not going to tell her. Not like this anyway, over a fucking DM. He thanks her, asks her when she wants to meet up, and then he gets up to get dressed for work. He doesn't feel any better, though. 

* * *

Even reconnects with some of the friends he lost during the next few weeks, the ones Isak was supposed to _keep._ He hears nothing from Isak except for a singular text message the day after: 

_I’m fine, eve. thanks for the talk_

Even knows it’s for sure Isak because of the nickname. Isak’s mom was a super Christian during her life and had some homophobic tendencies until Isak came out as gay. She’d say, “The bible says Adam and Eve, Isak. Not Adam and Steve,” so obviously it became a giant joke. After Isak came out, she accepted him for who he is, and even made fun of her own ignorance. The nicknames stuck, though. Adam and Eve. Isak and Even. 

Even realizes he misses her. He wished he could’ve said goodbye, could see her one last time. Could give her a hug. 

He goes back to his regular life, continues teaching despite the oncoming winter, and celebrates his anniversary with Sonja. 

He’s not sure why, but there’s a finality about the entire evening. Like they won’t make it to their next one. 

She doesn’t seem to feel the emotion in Even’s heart, though, because she truly enjoys herself. She looks beautiful as they dance together in a crowd of people at a club, hair wild and tangled and shining in the lights. As they eat dinner in a restaurant that teenage Even would’ve balked at because it’s so expensive and stuffy, she glows. As she walks down the streets with even, strong strides, standing taller than him in the highest heels she owns, she seems so powerful. She looks incredible and she is so smart and she is everything Even could dream of but personified. In theory. 

In practice, Even can’t stop thinking about Isak. In the way her hair, which is long and blonde, gets wrapped in between his fingers and stuck under the ring he wears on his right hand. In the shape of her mouth, which is full and soft. In the softness of her hands as she holds his face. 

She is so unlike Isak. So different and yet so the reminiscent. A painting of the original muse. A cover of an original song. A copy. A fake. 

When they go home, she’s drunk and happy and flying high on a cloud, but Even is as low as hell itself. She crashes into bed, makeup still on, shoes still laced, dress still zipped. 

“Even,” she says seductively, grinning like a fox. “Come here.” 

Even can’t bring himself to do this to her. To be with her physically like that when he is so far mentally, so he just takes off her shoes, wipes off her makeup, and lays with her. 

He spends hours just holding her until he can bear it no more. 

She looks so peaceful as she sleeps, like she’s a child again. Like all the trouble and weight of the world hasn’t yet aged her and she gets to enjoy life not afflicted by the negativity of life. 

Tears are in his eyes when he gently lifts himself from the bed beside her, still in his button-down, but only his boxers on the bottom. He tucks her back in once he’s gone, so she doesn’t get cold and come looking. He just needs to be alone, to be unobserved, unseen, to not exist for a while. 

But how does he make himself no exist?

Anxiety builds and builds in his chest like a shaken can of soda as he takes his phone and goes out into the kitchen. It’s not far enough, though, so he pushes open the front door and runs out of his apartment, down the stairs, and out onto the street. 

The cold February air burns his cheeks and bites at his bare feet, but he feels less trapped, but more upset. He’s panting so hard he can’t breathe, can’t think. 

The only thing in his mind is that he hasn’t had a panic attack like this in almost 3 years. 

His knees press into the cold slush on the ground as he falls, hand to his chest as his heartbeat pounds in his ears. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! 

He gasps for air, a lone man in an expensive button down and boxers, barefoot on a New York sidewalk, and everyone ignores him. 

He feels so out of control, so helpless, so upset that he doesn’t know what to do. He can’t breathe and he’s freezing and he’s sweating and the world is fucking ending and maybe he’ll die right here in the street and Sonja will think he’s off being manic somewhere or killed himself in a moment of deep depression and won’t even look for him and Isak will never know Even still dreams of him and Isak will die because Even won’t be there for him when he has no one else because he’ll already be dead himself. 

He presses his forehead against the ground, feels the snow and dirt bite into his skin, so he can focus. It’s so hard, though, to not give in to the panic. To the fear. To the anxiety. 

He screams through clenched teeth, but probably doesn’t make a sound. He can’t breathe anyway. 

He squeezes his hands into fists and tenses all the muscles in his body that he can. Tenses them until it hurts. Then, with an enormous amount of effort, he relaxes them. 

It’s something he learned in the aftermath of Isak. He was so unstable, then, and he had just gotten a new shrink, so everything was shit. 

He was spiraling out of control and panic attacks were his new normal. Then his psychiatrist told him about ways to get out of these. To work through them. Focus. Breathe. Burn. 

He tenses his muscles again, thinking of the panic attacks he had in places he can never visit again, of the sounds and smells that trigger him even to this day. He’s gasping, but his pulse is coming down. 

He relaxes his body again, focusing on every joint, every muscle, until he can breathe again. Until he’s okay, for now, as he lays in the slush and trash littered gutter. 

Even after he’s calmed down, he doesn’t get up. Why should he? 

Instead, he sends a text. 

_Can you talk?_

A moment later and his phone is ringing. 

“Even?” Isak says softly. “What’s up?” 

Tears stream down his frozen cheeks and he sobs into the receiver. 

“What’s wrong?” Isak asks again, sounding distressed. “Even?” 

Even sobs at the sound of his name in Isak’s mouth. At the memories that tug and pull and squeeze at his heart. 

“I missed you,” is all he can say. “I missed you, that’s all.” 

“What happened, love?” 

“I...I had a panic attack.” 

“Do you get those often?” Isak asks, worried. “You didn’t before.” 

“It started after.” 

“What caused it today?” 

Even can't exactly say, but he can’t lie. He won’t. Perhaps he’ll be rewarded for his honesty.

Or maybe he’ll be punished either way. 

“I don’t love my girlfriend.” 

“You have a girlfriend?” _Pain._ “What’s her name?” 

“Sonja,” his voice cracks around her name. “Sonja.” 

Never-ending pain. Right where his heart and lungs should be. 

Maybe he doesn't have any anymore and that's why he can't breathe, can't see, can't live. 

“Emma’s friend Sonja?” 

“Yeah. We...met a couple years ago at a bar.” 

“Shit. She was cute.” 

Even wants to beg him to stop asking about Sonja. He doesn't want to invite her into this space, this existential time, where only he and Isak exist. Julian, Sonja, any of their old friends, they don't exist here in the space between Isak's speaker and Even's receiver.

But he has to say something to fill the space, the emptiness, the quiet. 

“She is...but I...don’t...love her.” I still love _you._

It’s unspoken, but plain as day. Even’s put almost all of it out there, and Isak could crush him again with just a few words this time. 

“No?” 

“No.” 

Isak’s breathing is quiet on the other side of the line for a moment. Even, still laying in the snow, sits up. 

His legs are numb and he’s bleeding from a gash on his knee. He can’t stop shivering, but at least his lungs still work. For now, at least. 

“I don’t love him either.” Isak. 

Even’s beautiful, brave Isak. He could cry. 

“Thank you,” Even says, clenching his jaw. 

“Of course.” 

Even stands on numb feet and returns to his apartment, still holding the phone to his ear. The space between them, those few miles from New York City to Hightstown are nothing at this moment. If Isak asked, Even would run. Barefoot and half-naked, he’d run straight to him. 

But Isak would have to ask. 

“Where are you?” Isak asks, worried. “Are you safe?” 

“As houses, Is.” 

Even takes the elevator back up to his apartment and is grateful for the key card he keeps shoved in the back of his phone case. Otherwise, he’d have to wake Sonja up and she’d see him like this and never forgive him for it. 

She’d probably call his shrink for him and tell her all about his relapse, his breakdown, his newest panic attack. She means so well, but she's so wrong. 

“I’m sorry for calling,” Even says, standing in his kitchen as he turns on the kettle. 

He needs something warm to bring feeling back into his appendages. God, he’s freezing. 

“Why are you sorry?” Isak asks. “I call you all the time.” 

“Not all the time,” Even whispers, feeling terribly, pitifully sad. “Not nearly enough.” 

“I’m sorry,” Isak says with a sigh. “It’s all my fault.” 

“What is?” 

“Your panic attacks. You said they started after I…”

“That’s not your fault.” Even pours the water into a mug and dips a tea bag into it. 

Sleepytime tea for a freezing, restless, panicking boy. He truly needs it tonight. 

“Does he know you’re talking to me?” Even asks suddenly, remembering Isak has a boyfriend who he lives with. “Will it start a fight?” 

“No, no. He’s out with his friends. Won’t be back until sunrise, probably.” 

“And then he’ll…?”

“Sometimes. Yeah.” He’s curt. 

Even wants to send that guy to fucking hell. God. Why do people suck so bad? 

“You can always call me,” Even says meaningfully. “No matter what happened between us, I still...I will always love you, you know? I want you safe no matter the cost.” 

“Safe as houses?” Isak laughs, but he’s trying too hard. “Alright, Eve. I’ll keep that in mind...but know the same applies to you, alright?” 

How could it? Even wants to ask. How could the same apply when a single phone call from Even could possibly be the cause of another injury to Isak’s beautiful face? How could Even ever call him knowing that if he’s caught, he’ll surely pay? 

“Alright, _Adam,”_ Even says flatly, exhausted by the night's events and the preface to tomorrow's chaos. “I’m gonna go to bed now.” 

He can't keep his eyes open, because they sting from salty New York slush. He's in pain in so many ways that he doesn't know what to fix first. 

“Yeah? You got work in the morning?” 

"No. I took the day off.” Even doesn’t want to talk about why. 

He’d met Sonja again at a bar the day before tomorrow all those years ago. That anniversary is pleasant enough, but tomorrow’s? That’s an entirely different story. 

“For what?” 

“I...It’s...My dad’s birthday.” 

“Oh, Even,” Isak says softly. “He’s still…?” 

“Yeah. It’s...he’s in the hospital now, because I can’t take care of him...not like that.” Even covers his eyes with his hands like he can block out the memory. “I keep hoping he’ll get better...but I know he won’t.” 

Alzheimer’s is a bitch. 

“He usually doesn’t remember me.” Even coughs. “It’s terrifying when he looks through me like that...and all I want is for him to recognize me.” 

“I hope this time he does,” Isak says softly, helplessly. 

Even does, too. 

“Thanks for answering,” Even whispers. “I feel better now...Just hearing your voice, it makes me feel better.” 

It shouldn’t, not with his girlfriend in his bed in an apartment they share together a couple yards away, but it does. 

“Me, too.” 

“Good night, Isak. Talk to you soon.” 

“Night, Eve.”

* * *

Even goes and sees his dad the next day in Pennsylvania. It’s not a long drive, only a couple hours, but he’s so nauseated he has to stop multiple times to gag out the window or into public toilets.

When he finally gets there, he’s so anxious he pukes in the trash can outside the nursing home and has to rinse his mouth with water just to go inside. The nurse at the desk looks up at him, at the bags under his eyes, the hollowness of his cheeks, and asks him if he’s visiting someone. 

“Yes, my father. Mitchell Bech Næsheim.” 

“Oh, yes. He said you’d be coming today,” she says, smiling at him. 

Even is so full of anxiety he’s drowning in it, but the way she’s looking at him makes him feel better. Maybe he will remember. For the first time in 3 years, maybe he’ll look at Even and see him without having to be reminded. 

“Room 212.” 

“Thanks.” 

Even drags his leaden feet up the hallways and around corners until he’s standing in front of the door. It’s half shut, light leaking into the dark room in a wedge. 

Even feels like he might throw up again when the door creaks open and another nurse stands inside. 

“You must be Even,” he says brightly, on his way out. “Come in! Your father has been looking forward to this day all week.” 

Even says nothing, feels sick to his stomach despite the promise of a good day, his shoulders droop. He is so exhausted and jittery from the iced coffee he had on his way here. He can’t do this. 

“Evy,” his dad says, immobilized in his hospital bed. “I missed you.” 

Even swallows despite the suffocating feeling in his throat, his chest, his stomach. It’s like he’s been tied up by ribbons, wrapped over and over, as tight as possible, a butterfly unable to free itself from its cocoon. Seeing his father is like being strangled by the webs of silk worms, lost in the sticky webs to die and decompose and feed the worms’ offspring. 

He coughs out a breath, trying to talk, and can’t. Coughs again. Again. Again. 

He remembers him. But to what degree?

“Hi, dad.” 

“Come here, son. Come sit with me for a while.” 

Even robotically moves toward the seat by the window. The stormy day outside mirrors Even’s mood, making him feel on edge and chaotic. He locks his knees when he steps, because he feels like he’s going to fall, to crash down to his knees and weep in a ball on the ground again. 

“How was your year?” 

“Fine,” Even says flatly. “Yours?” 

“Been feeling better,” he says brightly, obviously missing Even’s anxiety. “Thought I might call your mother.” 

Even’s mother has been dead 10 years. He’d been the one to find her, so he should know. Heart attack. 

Even feels like weeping. 

“Yeah?” Even says, voice shaking. “Haven’t spoken to her in awhile. Tell her I said I love her, yeah?” 

“Of course. She knows that, though.” 

“I know.” 

Even’s dad reaches out for his hand and he takes it, feels the fragile bones and thin skin of a man dying from an incurable disease. Feels the despair of watching someone you love fade away into ashes. 

“I love you, too, you know?” Even says quietly. “Even when I’m not here, I love you.” 

Even only sees him a few times a month, because between the drive here and Even’s chaotic schedule, he just doesn’t have the time. He has to set aside a whole day to drive to Pennsylvania just to see him. To feel the anxiety of this event over and over and over until his father is lost to him forever. 

Even’s dad must hear something in his voice, see something in his eyes, because he holds Even’s hand even tighter. 

“I know and I love you, too,” he grins. “Harder to miss you when you’re here annoying me anyway.” 

Even laughs, a choked and gasping sound in his dry throat, and his dad grins. 

“Now tell me, how’s Isak?” 

Even’s jaw drops, his bones crack. How does he tell a terminally ill man that the boy he’d loved like a son is no longer around? That he’s being abused by a pretentious frat boy with ugly hair? 

“He’s alright,” Even lies, tasting vomit in the back of his throat. “I’m just so glad you remember me.”

“How could I forget?” He’s shaking his head a little in disbelief. “My only son, my baby boy. I’m so proud of you, you know that? I can’t wait for you to be a teacher.” 

He must remember 15 or 16 year old Even who wanted to be a teacher when he grew up. Sometimes, things do work out the way you think they will.

Sometimes, they do not. 

“You’re gonna do such a good job.” 

“Thanks, dad.” Even takes his other hand and holds his dad’s between them. “I hope so.”

* * *

After that, Isak doesn’t call for 3 weeks. 

It’s still bitter cold outside, still snowing, but it’s early March in New York City, so what could be expected of the weather? It’s always shit when it’s cold. 

Even goes to and from work walking through waist high snow drifts and slush the color of coal dust. He wears his jacket zippered to his throat, a hat over his ears, and thick mittens on his hands to keep warm during the awful nor’easter that comes crashing up the coast. It delivers feet of snow that cancels school and ice half an inch thick coating everything in a slippery, shiny coating

He and Sonja live opposite schedules during this, so he doesn’t see much of her. He’s relieved in a sick way that he won’t have to pretend to feel things he doesn’t. He makes the decision to just break up with her when things go regular again, because it’s so not fair to string her along. She deserves better. 

On the March night that Isak calls, Even is sitting on the couch in his apartment shoveling Ben and Jerry’s ice cream into his mouth while watching _The Walking Dead_ on tv. There’s very little character development in that show, unless you include devolution (the entire cast does nothing but devolve the entire fucking time), so he can watch it without even thinking about it. Nice when his mind is so far away. 

He picks up the phone without glancing at the caller ID. 

“Hello?” 

“Even,” Isak's voice is full of relief. “Thank you for answering.” 

“I’ll always answer.” 

“I know,” he sniffles. “I’m so grateful you do.”

“What happened?” Even pauses the show and sits up to pay full attention to Isak who sounds like he’s been crying for hours. 

“He tried to...and I…” 

“What did he try to do?” Even’s voice starts to rise in panic, pulse hammering in his ears. “Isak?” 

“He wanted to have sex...but I didn’t want to, because I have work soon and I need to sleep...and he…” 

“Oh, my God, Is,” Even gasps. “He...raped you?” 

Isak says nothing for a moment, just chokes on a sob. Even waits for him to speak, wants him to direct how this conversation goes, but he’s sick to his stomach. 

That piece of fucking shit. Even’s going to get all of their old friends together and they’re all going to go to Hightstown to kick Julian’s ass. They’re going to throw him in the fucking Hudson and let him drown with the garbage.

“He started to, but I pushed him off...and then he was so mad, he just hit me...and left.” 

“I’m so fucking sorry, Isak. You don’t deserve that.” Even shuts his eyes shut hard. “No one fucking does. He’s disgusting for doing that to you.” 

Typical fucking frat boy. Even could vomit in distress. 

“Are you alright now, though? Is he gone?” 

“He is...but I think my wrist is broken.” 

“You have to go to the hospital,” Even’s in fucking agony. 

He wants to be there with him, hold him in his arms, tell him no one will ever hurt him again. Take him to the doctor and sit at his side and protect him. 

But he can’t. And it’s killing him. 

“I’m gonna go to the urgent care in East Windsor...but what am I gonna tell them?” He sounds afraid now. 

“The truth.” Even says firmly. “They’ll be able to help you. Get you out of there.” 

“I can’t. He’ll go to jail, Even. How could I do that to him?” His voice is so small, so pained. 

Even’s breath shakes in anger when he replies, “Why are you protecting him when he’s never protected you?” 

Isak says nothing, but something shifts in Even’s head. It’s like he’s there, standing in an unfamiliar living room with Isak. He’s beaten and bloody and his wrist is bent at an angle it shouldn’t be able to turn to, dark purple with bruises. Even holds him tight to his chest, hands gentle enough not to hurt him, but firm enough to get his point across. 

No more. 

“You have to, Isak,” Even says urgently, voice quaking in fear. “He’s gonna _kill_ you if you don’t.”

“I _know,_ but I don’t know how to.” 

“Let me help you,” he pleads. “Please.” 

“What about your girlfriend?” Isak’s voice is sad and sharp and perhaps a little angry. “Won’t she mind?” 

“Sonja would be glad you were safe.”

That much Even can guarantee. Sonja is such a good person she'd want anyone in that situation out of it. 

“I’ll think about it, okay?” Isak sniffles. “I’m gonna go to the hospital, Even, so I’ll call you later?” 

Even feels like maybe he pushed too hard. Said too much. Crossed an unseen line. 

Isak's withdrawing completely. That's the real reason he's got to go.

“Okay. Be safe, Is. Call if you need anything, okay?” 

“Good night.”

* * *

Isak doesn’t call or text for two months. 

Even spends this time writing break up speeches in the Notes app on his phone and deleting them because they’re awful. It doesn’t go well, the writing, so he doesn’t break it off. Instead, he busies himself with work, throwing himself into grading final papers and tests and anything he can, really, so he doesn’t have to talk about deep issues with her. 

Eventually, he’ll have to, but he doesn’t have the words right now. Is so unable to be emotionally with her that he has to physically be absent, too. 

It’s easy enough, because school is still going, but soon, things won’t be so easy. With the absence of work, Even will have to confront his despondency. 

Even does spend a lot of the time he’s supposed to be working worrying. He has so much anxiety it’s filled up his chest like sand, weighing him down. He can’t do anything but wonder if tonight will be the night Julian finally kills the only person Even’s ever loved. Spends sleepless nights waiting for a phone call that doesn’t come. 

He makes himself so sick with worry that Sonja begs him to see his doctor to change his meds, but he doesn’t. It’s not the medicine’s fault that Even is falling apart, after all. 

On an afternoon in late May when he’s told Sonja he has a doctor’s appointment but doesn’t really, his phone rings. He answers it quickly when he sees the number, recognizing it as Isak’s. 

“I have to go visit my mom’s grave today,” he says, sounding terrible and sad without preamble. “It’s been a year since she…and I have to go.” 

“Oh, Isak,” Even says softly, holding the counter in grief. “I’m so sorry.” 

He misses Marianne, too. Misses her smile and her hugs and her terrible cooking. Maybe he'll ask for the cemetery so he can leave her some flowers, say a final goodbye. 

She deserves that much. 

“Can you...Do you think...I know this is awful to ask...but could you come with me? I don’t want to be alone...and Julian’s busy today…” 

Isak wants Even to go with him? 

“Of course I’ll go with you, Isak. Of course.” Even swallows a mouthful of scalding hot tea in his haste to answer. “Do I have to pick you up?” 

“In Hightstown?” Isak snorts. “No, no. We can meet for lunch somewhere in the city?” 

“Yeah, that works for me,” Even says, heartbeat picking up. "Tommy's at noon?"

He can feel it in his ears, in his temple, in his chest. What is he doing?! Why is he so excited? 

“Okay, cool. I’ll meet you there.” 

"See you soon, love."

Even’s heart is hammering in his chest, first in excitement and then in dread, when he turns and Sonja is standing right behind him with confusion written into her eyebrows.


	3. fast enough to fly away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> life is pain; death is inevitable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been three months! Life has been pure, unrestrained chaos, but you guys probably get it lol. life has been v busy, so it took me a long time to find the time to write and i wanted to do this justice. 
> 
> Hope this is worth the wait for you guys! 
> 
> chapter title (adapted) from fast car by tracy chapman! i really like the khalid cover, though, too, so check them out!

There’s an iced coffee in Sonja's hand that she’s squeezed to bursting. It drips down her fist, all over the floor, and up her arm as she gapes at him. Her awe turns to anger, though, in just a few seconds. 

Even's never seen her look so mad. And hurt. 

“Who the _fuck_ was that?” 

Even’s sigh is heavy and loud in the quiet as her coffee drips to the floor. 

“It’s my old friend, Isak. He’s in an abusive relationship...and I’ve been trying to convince him to leave.” 

“Abusive how?” Sonja’s scowling still, but she’s calming. 

But only because Even is lying by omission. 

“He’s getting beaten regularly...almost sexually assaulted...verbally abused.” 

She’s silent for a moment before she sighs, too, dumping the rest of her coffee into the sink with a huff. Her eyebrows aren’t furrowed anymore and the set of her shoulders isn’t angry. 

But he has to tell her the truth...even if she gets upset. He's got to. Not just for him, or for Isak, but for Sonja, too. 

“But there’s something else, too.” 

Even can’t keep this going any longer. He needs to not be afraid to be alone, needs to set Sonja free to find someone who can love her the way she truly deserves. She’s an awesome person, a great girlfriend, and she should get to be happy. The life Even’s offered her isn’t going to make her happy. 

So he starts to tell her the truth. 

“He’s my ex.” 

Nothing. She doesn’t even blink. Even’s so confused at her reaction, at her stillness, that he furrows his eyebrows. 

“I’m still in love with him...I think maybe I always will be.” 

Sonja’s face is slack, unmoving. She looks so still that she might be a statue carved from marble and Even finds himself wondering if he should shake her or something. 

“Sonja?” 

“You’re in love with him?” 

“Yes.” 

“Is that why we haven’t had sex in months?” Her face is still as unmoving as a statue, still as marble. “Because you’ve been fraternizing with some lost love?”

“It’s because I didn’t want to...to objectify you. It’s not that I don’t love you, because I do, I’m just not...in love with you.” 

“Were you ever?” Finally, eyebrows furrow, lips press down, breathing picks up. 

Anger, quick and fast and brutal as always. As it is for everyone on earth. Her fists are tight at her sides as she waits, but he doesn’t know what to say. 

Decides, “I was, yes,” is a safe answer. 

He doesn’t worry she’ll hurt him, because she’s not like that, but he worries for her. Hopes she knows he’s doing her a favor in the long run even if it hurts now. 

“And when did that stop? When he first called you?” 

“No, Sonja. No. He wasn’t the catalyst to this break-up, love. I was.” 

“How long?” She asks, unable to hide the anger in her voice. “How long?” 

“How long what?” Even scowls now, feeling like she’s being a bit unfair. “I told you. He’s in an abusive relationship and I’m just trying to get him out of it. He doesn’t know I still...but I do, and that’s not fair to you. I won’t hold onto you when I know you deserve better.” 

Sonja turns then, shaking her head as she walks away. Even can hear the hitch in her breathing that precedes her crying, so he follows her, unsure if it’s a wise decision or not. 

“Please,” she says without turning, “give me a minute to myself.” 

Even stares at her back as she weeps and he nods, but can’t turn away. He caused this. It’s all his fault. 

All this pain, all the suffering, it’s all because he loved someone so much that losing him tore a hole through his chest. 

Even’s sure it’s worth it. 

He wipes up the coffee off the floor in the meantime, trying not to break into tears himself. 

Sonja comes back in a moment, eyes red, tears streaked, but looking firm. 

“Is he okay?” She asks, not meeting his eyes, tear tracks through the makeup on her face. “That guy you love? Is he safe?” 

Even actually does cry now, because she is so _good._ So selfless and beautiful and kind and amazing and in this moment, he has never loved her more. Has never felt so awful for being unable to be in love with her. 

“He’s safe today. I’m going to try and convince him to leave.” 

“Good. No one deserves that life, Even. I hope it works out.” 

She finally looks up to meet his eyes and he knows she means it. He doesn’t know what to say in the face of her sincerity, of her kindness, so he furrows his brows and nods. 

“I do, too.” 

* * *

Even meets Isak outside of Tommy’s pizzeria early. 

He looks so good and he also looks so bad. There’s a long healed scar that cuts his left eyebrow in half and streaks down his cheekbone and he limps a little when he walks toward Even. 

His hair is long, longer than Even has ever seen it, and his smile is as bright as it was the first time Even told him he loved him. He looks so beautiful that Even tears up a little, as embarrassing as it is. 

He’s just missed Isak so much that it all comes flooding back, all the pain and pining and loss. The life he grieved and still grieves. The love he lost that will never come back. The pain of a heartbreak that continues for eternity. 

If he didn’t have the wall of a building to lean up against, he would’ve fallen to his knees, scraped his hands in the dirt, and wailed like a toddler. 

Instead, he slides to the right a step or two and braces himself against the bricks outside of the restaurant, staring at Isak with tears sliding down his cheeks. 

“Eve?” Isak asks softly, stepping forward. “Y'alright?” 

“All good, Adam,” Even whispers, but he’s lying through his teeth. 

He’s only ever been less alright one or two other times. 

Isak steps forward and presses his hand against Even’s arm, gentle, firm. Familiar. 

“Doesn’t seem like you are.” 

“I’m just...overwhelmed.” Even wipes at his face furiously, gasping. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be, Even. I’m the sorry one.” 

“It’s so strange to be here with you...I...I dreamt of seeing you again. I fantasized about meeting you out on the street and what I would say to you when I saw you...but now that I’m here, I…” 

“It’s okay. Let’s go sit, yeah? I reserved a table.” 

Isak lets go of Even’s arm and he stands, nods despite his entire body shaking, and follows him inside. 

Even hasn’t eaten at Tommy’s since the break-up, but inside, the place is the same. He’d grown up eating Tommy’s pizza, watching weird Italian tv shows in the booth in the back as he ate. It feels and smells familiar, like coming home after a long, exhausting trip. 

“I spent so long staring at myself in the mirror making sure I looked good,” Even says with some embarrassment. “And now I’m all...teary.” 

“Don’t worry too much, Eve. I saw you walking down the street before you got all snotty…” His face softens as he looks down, smiles to himself. “And you looked beautiful.” 

Even’s own smile blooms in response and they’re just staring at one another in the booth of their old favorite restaurant with ridiculous grins on their faces as the Great British Baking Show plays somewhere in the background. 

“What can I get for you?” The waitress asks, coming up to their table to interrupt them. 

“Mozzarella sticks and a large broccoli and cheese pizza, please,” Isak says, sparing Even a conspiratorial glance. “And two Sprites.” 

Always the same order, since they were kids. 

She nods, tells them it’ll be out soon, and goes off to put the order in. 

“Is that…” Even says suddenly, building up the courage, somber. “Is the scar from him?” 

He doesn’t care if it’s rude to ask. 

Isak’s new scar, one that’s been long healed, cuts his eyebrow in half and barely misses the outer corner of his left eye as it crosses over his cheekbone and back into his hairline. It’s a slim scar, something not made with accident, and instead with precision. Like a knife wound. 

“Yeah.” Isak’s voice is withdrawn. “Last year, or maybe it was 2 years ago, he...a picture frame...the glass…” A sigh. 

“Did it hurt?” Of _course_ it did. 

Even is an idiot.

“I was really fucking drunk...but it did when I woke up.” 

Even nods, working his jaw a little, trying to figure out what to say. Isak beats him to it, quickly changing the subject. 

“It’s good to see you again,” he whispers, smirking. “I was so excited to come.” 

“Me, too,” Even admits, sighing a little. “You look exactly the same.”

“Not exactly, but close enough, right?” Isak snorts, but he’s sad now. _“You,_ though, you look so different.” 

“In what way?” 

“You’re a lot sexier now,” Isak whispers, lip curling up in a smirk. “More confident.” 

“You think?” Even laughs, flattered. “Wonder what caused the change.” 

“Time,” he says wistfully, “and space.” 

Even fakes a smile, because his heart hurts. Time and space left Isak abused and Even unable to love. 

“Here’s your sodas,” the waitress reappears, placing down their sodas and their mozzarella sticks, “and your app. Pizza will be out in a few minutes.” 

“Thank you,” Even says and she nods, disappearing into the kitchen. 

Isak reaches for the mozzarella sticks and eats two before Even even manages to get a hold of one. 

“Some things,” Even says, laughing, “never change.”

* * *

“She’s up here,” Isak says somberly, leading Even up a tall grassy hill full of tombstones. 

The cemetery is overgrown, unkempt, and the weeds poke him in the knees and cut his hands as they climb, avoiding holes and large rocks on the long buried path. 

It’s the kind of cemetery that haunts dreams and fills the background of horror movies. The sky, which had been clear a few hours ago, is dark with an impending storm, which only adds to the effect. 

Even finds himself growing wary, but he’s not exactly sure why. It’s just the mood of the place, abandoned and forgotten, and the way Isak’s shoulders slope forward now when he used to hold them so high. Beaten down by time and force. 

“Shit,” Even whispers, stumbling so hard he has to catch himself on a headstone to avoid face planting into the overgrown weeds on the grave of a dead man. “You’d think they’d at least cut the grass.” 

“No one owns this place anymore,” Isak says, waiting for him to catch up. “The bank foreclosed on it...so this is what it will be like forever until someone else buys it, I guess.” 

Even frowns, matches stride with Isak, and says, “There’s something so wrong about a corporate conglomerate owning a cemetery full of dead people.” 

“Right?” Isak says in disbelief. “We’re almost there.” 

Even can see a slight clearing up ahead where the grass and weeds grow shorter than all the rest. 

“If the bank owns it, how did your mom get buried here?” 

“She died while the owner was still in court, so she was the last person to be buried here.” 

“Oh.” 

As they approach, Even can see the headstone, set tall near the base of a pine tree, and he sighs. There’s an angel on top, a cherub, resting its face against the stone like its taking a long, well-needed nap. Large feathery wings stick out from its back and tears spring to Even’s eyes. 

“Marianne,” he whispers, feeling grief hit him. “I wish I’d gotten to...to say goodbye.” 

“Me, too,” Isak says, standing in front of Even so he can’t see his face. “I hadn’t spoken to her in weeks...and then she was just. Dead. And I was all alone.”

**MARIANNE ASTRID WALKER-VALTERSEN**

**Loving mother, daughter, sister**

**PEACE. PERFECT PEACE.**

**October 17, 1970 - May 20, 2019**

“How’d she die, Is?” 

“She fell down the stairs and...and I wasn’t there to help her. She had a stroke…and I wasn’t  _ there. _ ” 

“Oh, my God.” 

Isak’s shoulders are so tense, like the strings on a violin, that Even’s afraid he’s going to snap. Hesitantly, not wanting to cross the line, he reaches out for Isak’s shoulder, touching him with gentle fingertips. Gentle enough to keep distant, close enough to reassure. 

“Isak,” is all he can say. “Look at me.” 

He doesn’t, just shakes in his place, back to Even, weeping silently. Even can feel his pain like it’s his own, can feel his grief, his regret, his anger. His hand touches Isak’s arm, which is damp with the afternoon mist, and then Isak turns, looking up at him with furious tear-filled eyes. 

“It’s my fucking fault.” 

“No,” Even says, surprised. “Not at all, Is. How could you think that?” 

“I should’ve been there...I’m her only  _ son. _ I was all she had left a-and I wasn’t even there when she needed me the most...when she was dead at the bottom of the stairs!” 

Even, who has never been very good at putting together reassuring phrases, just reaches out with his other hand to pull Isak toward him. As he turns, pliant and restless, Even can see the agony in his eyes, the guilt. 

It breaks his fucking heart. 

“Come here,” he says softly and Isak crashes into him like a tsunami attacking a coast, relentless and fierce and terrible.

He is so thin now, all skin and bones and pain, that Even instinctively holds him tighter to protect him. Rationally, he knows that this pain is one he can never protect Isak from, but he feels better with him close, with his head tucked beneath his chin and his arms around his waist. 

“I fucked up,” Isak says, sobbing so hard his voice is raw. “I keep fucking everything up!” 

Even squeezes him tighter, tears in his eyes, fury and grief expanding in his chest like a balloon. 

“I keep making these choices and all they ever do is hurt the people around me. I thought that dating...dating Julian finally was a choice where...where I only hurt myself by making it, but it wasn’t.” He gasps for breath, shaking. “I hurt you, too. Again. I hurt Eva and Jonas and...and everyone who used to love me.” 

“Isak, stop.” 

“I should just fucking die and then maybe I’d stop hurting the people I love!” 

“And you think that wouldn’t hurt us, too?” Even’s voice is sharper than he means, because he’s panicking. “When you called, when I felt so fucking helpless on the otherside of that phone, I was almost driven crazy by the thought of him killing you. Those first few seconds of the calls...where you were crying, where you were hurt and in pain and so alone and couldn’t tell me why, those were the most painful minutes of my life, because I thought you were dying. I thought you’d die and I’d never hold you again, because you were so far away...so don’t you  _ ever _ fucking say you think dying would be better...because I  _ lived _ that reality and it was only worse.” 

The thought of Isak, beaten and bloody and gone, haunts Even, despite his firm grasp on the very alive asshole in his arms. Anxiety flares in his chest at the thought of his dead body, of his blood, of his unexpanding lungs, of his funeral full of people he hadn’t seen in years. 

Even though it’s not real, it still makes him feel sick. 

“But I hurt you before all this...and I hurt you by coming back.” 

“I don’t  _ care, _ Isak. Life is pain, alright? You can’t control how your harmless choices affect others. You can’t protect everyone by punishing yourself.” 

Nothing. Silence. He’s still shaking, though, and Even knows he won’t be the first to let go. How could he? 

The sun is long gone and the clouds, black and stormy, turn the air to darkness. A cool rain starts to fall when Isak reaches up and wipes at his face, takes a step back. 

His face is blotchy and his eyes are red. The scar is still there, still as sharp as a cut. 

Even doesn’t care; he looks fucking beautiful and tragic, like a van Gogh painting. 

“I’m sorry.” Isak’s voice is small and quiet. “For this and for then. For hurting you. For not knowing I was doing it. For not caring when I did. I owe you for what you’ve done for me...in the past...and I plan on making it up to you.” 

Even’s not sure what his face looks like, what emotion he’s wearing in his tear-filled eyes, but whatever it is, it seems to bring Isak some peace. He smiles a little, a secretive and snarky grin, and rolls his eyes. 

“Now we’re both all snotty.” 

“Don’t worry, Adam,” Even says gently, remembering what Isak had said earlier, “I saw you walking through the graveyard before you got all snotty and you looked  _ beautiful.” _

Isak’s smile is as fragile as the glass that cut his face and left it scarred.

* * *

Even and Isak spend the night wandering through the city, soaked to the bone by the summer rain. 

Even hunts down their old hang out, a run down ice cream place that somehow managed to survive when they didn’t. The sign is as flaking and cracked as Even remembers. 

When he enters, not a thing is out of place. These places, the tiny, hole-in-the-wall restaurants in the middle of nowhere, they make Even feel like not everything has to change. 

Sometimes things can go back to the way they used to be. 

Even gets a strawberry cheesecake milkshake, because he feels like he deserves it after all the walking and climbing he did and Isak gets a rootbeer float. 

They sit on the patio outside the place and drink their desserts. The sun has long set and the rain is still falling hard, but the umbrella overhead keeps them relatively dry. 

Isak’s so smart, so quick, despite everything. He is so beautiful and so kind and so brilliant. Even doesn’t have words for him, and he never did. 

The only thing he knows is that he  _ still _ wants to kiss him. Even after everything, after the break up and the pain and the panic, he still wants to kiss Isak. Maybe it will always be that way. 

Maybe it means Isak’s thinking of kissing Even, too. 

“Can I tell you something?” Even asks suddenly, feeling nervous. “Even if it crosses a line?”

“Yeah.” Isak’s smile is mischievous. “Of course.” 

“I’m sort of thinking about kissing you,” Even says softly, hesitantly. “Just thought I’d let you know.”

“How thoughtful of you.” 

“Wasn’t it?” Even grins, unable to help himself. “Are you thinking the same thing?” 

“No,” Isay says indifferently, looking innocently at Even as he smiles like an angel. “I’m thinking of that tattoo you got on your thigh and how I never got the chance to kiss it.”

Even’s had the damn tattoo for two or three days longer than he and Isak have been broken up. A lyric from an old song his mom played a lot growing up. It really impacted him in his youth, helped him make the choices he had to, so he got it inked on his body as a reminder. 

_ leave tonight or live and die this way _

Even smirks a little when Isak meets his eyes, biting down on his lip. He really wants to kiss him. 

He won’t, though, because he’s not stupid. 

Isak’s still dating his abusive fuck of a boyfriend and he’s not dumb enough to 100% believe Isak is done with him. He hasn’t even damned him for hitting him, hasn’t said he hates him. 

In fact, he hasn’t spoken much about Julian at all. 

Always so in tune with other people’s emotions, Isak must notice the change on Even’s face, in his demeanor. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Are you gonna leave him?” Even can’t meet his eyes as the rain pours buckets around them.

Silence. Isak says nothing, but Even can feel him, static like electricity, awake and alert and on edge. 

“He’s gonna kill you if you don’t.” 

“I  _ know,” _ Isak whispers. “I know.” 

“So _are_ you? Not for me...but for you. You deserve better than that.” 

“Do I?” Isak says unsurely, voice shaking. “It doesn’t feel that way.” 

“I don’t care how it _feels,_ Isak,” Even looks up, furrowing his eyebrows and getting a little upset with him. “Let me ask you something. If Eva called you and said her boyfriend was knocking her around when he got drunk...that he was beating the shit out of her most nights, breaking her arm, scarring her face, what would you tell her? What would you  _ beg _ her to do?”

“I’d tell her to leave.” 

“Then why are you fucking staying?” 

“I don’t know.” Isak looks like he’s in pain, agony, like he knows and doesn’t want to say. "I don't fucking know."

Even feels a little guilty for pushing him, but mostly for waiting so long to say it. Isak needs to hear this and needs to understand it. 

Julian will not stop at smashing vases and breaking arms. He will go farther. 

“If she said he was trying to  _ rape _ her, what would you beg her to do?” 

“I’m gonna leave,” Isak says suddenly, bravely, angry. “I  know I have to. I always have known...but I was alone then.” 

“And you’re not alone anymore.” Even’s voice is fierce. “I’ll call everyone and they’ll come help us. We’ll get your stuff and we’ll get you out. He should be in prison for what he’s done, but I’ll settle for leaving him in the dust if it means you’re safe.” 

“All I need is you,” Isak whispers. “Just you.” 

“Alright,” Even softens a little, reaches for his hand. “Whatever you want, Is, as long as you don't go back to that fuck." 

Even knows what Isak knows, deep in his heart. If he goes back, the only way he'll ever get out is in a body bag. 

Even would rather die than let that happen. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did you like it? let me know!


	4. i love you, i confess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hugs and kisses, long lost loves, and four words uttered beneath a street light. 
> 
> kiss me harder, eve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title's from don't fill up on chips by the front bottoms!
> 
> final chapter, my loves! I managed to do some writing despite being sick (my aunt brought covid home from work a few weeks ago) so I hope it's up to your standards. 
> 
> be safe out there, guys!

Even wakes up wrapped in Isak’s arms. That’s the first thing he notices.

The warmth of Isak’s skin, his hands, his cheek, against him is so foreign and yet so familiar. Even is no longer that boy from high school, the one so longingly and pathetically in love with his best friend, but Isak still fits the same against his shoulder, with his arm across Even’s chest, one leg tucked up high over Even’s thigh. He feels so good, so perfect, that Even doesn’t want to move. 

He hasn't felt this secure in a long, long time. Possibly ever, because if there is one thing Even's youth was not, it's secure. 

The second thing he notices is the ache in his back and hips from sleeping on the hard, cold floor of his bedroom. Isak had put up a fight, of course, but Even knew that Isak needed the bed and that he deserved to have it all for himself. So Even, taking two blankets and a pillow, crashed on the scratchy carpet to be there for Isak if he needed him, and woke up in Isak’s arms, despite all his best efforts. 

He didn’t want to overwhelm him, to cross the line, but Isak seems to have made the decision himself. It makes Even’s chest feel full of something, like he’s drunk something hot on an ice cold day and he can feel it travel down his throat and into his stomach. Like drinking hot chocolate after a day locked out in the bitter cold. 

There’s a line of sunlight peeking in through the blinds that burns across the side of his cheek, setting his skin on fire, but he feels so content he doesn’t even bother to move. This is what home is _supposed_ to feel like. 

Even doesn’t know how he lasted so long without it. How he lived so long apart from it. 

He shuts his eyes to try and fall back asleep, but the sun moves over the minutes until it’s burning a long line across his closed eyelids and he has to move. To shield his eyes from the infinite brightness of the morning sun. 

Upon turning, he opens his eyes and meets Isak’s teasing gaze. 

“Wonder how we both ended up sleeping on the floor,” Even says groggily. “I distinctly remember falling asleep alone.” 

“Really?” Isak asks innocently, looking beautiful and wicked and safe. Safe as houses. “I don’t remember that at all.” 

“Asshole,” Even grumbles, but he’s grinning, so it’s moot. 

“What’s for breakfast?” 

“I think I have cinnamon rolls.” Even’s suddenly of one mind. 

Breakfast. 

He tries to sit up almost immediately, tantalized by the thought of food, by the idea of sweet cinnamon and bread, and discovers something that surprises him. Isak’s dick is hard. 

He pretends not to notice, despite Isak probably knowing that he knows, and gets up, so it's not awkward. Despite his efforts, it still feels strange to him, though. Foreign and perplexing. 

Possibly Isak had dreamt of his ex, of the good amongst the bad, or of someone else entirely. Another ex, a movie star, a singer, someone he thinks is attractive and somehow Even stumbled into him in a moment of weakness. 

He feels almost like he'd infringed upon Isak in a delicate and intimate moment that he should never have been a part of. 

Instead of apologizing, he stretches as he stands, cheeks burning, and his shoulders crack as he moves. He tries not to look over at Isak, at how beautiful he probably looks, sprawled out in Even’s blankets, but he can’t help a glance. 

He’s even more beautiful than Even’s imagination. Up on his elbows, chin tipped up, smirking at him innocently, dick obvious. 

Even wants him so badly it hurts, but he’s not his. He hasn’t been in a long, long time. 

The sight makes him want and makes him upset at the same time. 

“I’ll make breakfast,” Even says calmly, internally screaming. 

In the kitchen, he leans against the counter and breathes. Jesus Christ. 

He preheats the oven and prepares the cinnamon rolls, wondering how he’s going to survive this. How he’s going to make it out alive with his heart and his dignity intact. 

Just as the oven beeps, Isak comes in, dressed in his shirt and his underwear. His hair is tousled, his eyes are bright, and he looks _good._

“Smells delicious,” he says with a broad grin, sitting at the small table as he waits. “Thanks, Eve.” 

Even sits down with him, bringing two plates over to the cups of coffee already resting there. 

The mood is almost awkward again, but perhaps that’s just how Even feels, because he knows what he has to say. What must come next. 

“So are you going to leave him?”

Isak looks down at the plate, at his coffee, at his hands. 

“Where will I go after?” 

“Here.” 

“What?” 

“I’ll get a bed for you, Is. I already decided.” 

Isak looks up at him with wide, naive eyes and Even can’t do it. He can’t look at him when he looks like that. 

It breaks his fucking heart that someone ground Isak down to the bone and left him a fucking mess. 

“Are you sure?” Isak asks, biting on the inside of his cheek anxiously. “What happened to your girlfriend? Won’t she wonder why the boy who broke your heart is staying in her living room?” 

“I broke up with her.” 

“Because you don’t love her.” Not a question exactly, but Even nods, serious, maintaining eye contact. “Okay.” 

“You’ll leave him?” 

“I will...and not for you, either. I'm leaving him for me.” 

Even’s smile is fragile and barely there at all, but he’s so fucking relieved. Isak will be safe. Safe as houses. 

“I’m glad...but, Is...” Even doesn’t know how to say this next part, so he forces it out all at once. “I think you should see a shrink, too.”

“A shrink?” 

“Yeah...I think...I think you should talk to someone, love. Eventually, you know, when you’re ready, so you can move on in a healthy way. Get better, not worse.” 

Isak says nothing for a while, just picks at his cinnamon roll and sips at his coffee, which makes Even really nervous. 

Nervous enough to speak again. 

“I’m not gonna force you to do anything, Isak. I would never do that, you know? But I think you need someone to help you...because moving on from him, from that life you were living, I think it’s going to be very hard. I think you’re going to be...I don’t know...traumatized by it...and I can only help you in so many ways.” 

Isak sighs, shuts his eyes, and subsequently rubs the bridge of his nose like he used to when he was stressed. With his face obscured, he could be that boy from high school, 17 years old, trapped by a closet of his own making, buried under the weight of his secrets. 

Even waits for him patiently, unsure, on edge, and sips at his coffee. When he picks up his spoon to stir in some milk, he catches his own reflection and stares vacantly at himself. 

Who does Isak see when he looks at him? The man so full of guilt and regret that it weighs him down like an anchor in the ocean? The boy from college who was so in love with him that he almost stopped living when he left? 

How does this Even, this panicky, older mess, stand against the one Isak knew so deeply he could guess what he’d say before he said it? 

“I’ll call someone soon.” Isak’s voice is quiet. “I know that I need help to get better...so I don’t go back to him and that life, Even. I know that...and I’m going to do it.” 

Even nods, feeling still uncomfortable and uneasy. He’s worried for Isak, for the strange look in his eyes, and somehow Isak just knows. 

“I just need my stuff...my clothes, my computer, my music. I’ve got to go to Jersey to get it and then...then I’ll get help like I need to.”

“When you’re ready, I’m here for you.” 

Isak’s smile is brilliant and a little patronizing. It’s the kind of look someone gives you when they don’t believe you, not entirely, but they’re hoping it’s for real, deep down in their chest. 

Even’s going to make sure he believes.

* * *

“You ready?” Even asks softly, standing outside a large, industrial-looking apartment complex in the middle of New Jersey. 

He hasn’t been to Jersey in fucking forever and he’s not sure how Isak stands the traffic. Driving in Jersey is almost as bad as Manhattan at its busiest. 

He’s just glad to be standing on his own two feet and not on that fucking highway. 

“I am. I just...I’m afraid.” 

“Don’t worry. Everything will work out the way it has to, Is. Then we’ll go back to the city and you’ll be safe.” 

“As houses,” Isak repeats, sounding like he hadn’t meant to say it aloud. “Alright. Let's go.”

Isak leads the way with a huff, shoulders tense, face set, hands in fists at his sides. Even follows, determined to be there for Isak, carrying a couple moving boxes in his arms. 

They take the stairs, since the elevator is broken, and Even’s winded by the time they reach Julian’s apartment. 

“Here it is,” Isak whispers, facing the door and sounding like he’s going to cry. “812.” 

Isak opens the door with his key, looking as if he’s bracing for impact. When the door swings open, the place looks strange. 

It’s almost like an open house, because there are no personal effects inside. Everything is in its place and there isn’t a coat, a sneaker, or even a coffee mug out of place. There aren’t any photos, either, so the walls are bare besides meaningless modern art remakes in indifferent black frames. 

It's ice fucking cold. 

“Homey,” Even says dryly. 

“I bought a frame and put a photo of us inside and he wouldn’t even let me display it. Said it messed with the aesthetic, so he made me keep it inside my bedside drawer.” Isak laughs, but he obviously doesn’t think it’s funny. “Dick.” 

“What an asshole.” 

Isak pushes in further, tells Even he’s going to gather his clothes, which leaves Even alone in the living room. 

He contemplates fucking with Julian’s aesthetic in ways he would easily notice, like pouring ketchup on his edgy white couch, or splashing red wine on his fuzzy beige rug, but he decides that’s too easy to fix. Too easy to replace. 

Instead, he searches the fridge for something that will slowly begin to stink, over time, with little to no evidence. Finding no seafood in the freezer, he stumbles on a bag of fancy potatoes. 

Perfect. 

He pokes holes in them, cuts them into tiny pieces, and then hides them in inconspicuous places all over the apartment. Under the couch, in the desk drawer, beneath the fridge, in the flower vase, behind the oven, stuffed into every cabinet in his kitchen in the back, faraway corners. 

Even doesn’t give a shit about the bastard’s deposit. Julian deserves way worse than rotten potatoes, but it’s all Even has, so he makes do. It brings him some semblance of joy to know that those pieces of potato are going to putrefy and rot and leave behind their stench long after Julian removes them. That he will have to deal with the disgusting odor of decaying vegetables until he moves out. 

As a final fuck you, he moves Julian’s decorations around just enough to bother, readjusts the couch so it overlaps the rug, shifts a painting to a slightly uneven angle. Fun, harmless pranks for an absolute piece of steaming wet dog shit.

By the time Even’s decided enough’s enough, Isak is done gathering his things, a measly three moving boxes worth of stuff, and he’s ready to go. Even takes two of them in his arms as Isak puts his keys onto the coffee table. 

“Are you sad?” Even asks, because he knows emotions are almost never rational. 

“Yes.” 

“I can’t understand what this is like, Is, but I want you to know that you’re making the right choice by leaving.” 

“I know that, Eve,” Isak says softly. “There are things I will miss and things I won’t.”

“The violence?” 

Isak nods and says, “And the aggression. The possessiveness.” 

“What’ll you miss?” 

Isak turns to Even, looking conflicted but sure, and says, “The good days. The way he used to look at me, right in the beginning, the way he would hold me...that I’ve missed for a long time...but I guess they were never real, anyway." 

Even says nothing, because he doesn’t know what to say, so Isak shrugs, sighs, and turns toward the door. 

Quietly, as if restraining himself from speaking anymore, Isak leads Even out into the hallway, down the stairs, and out to the car. 

They drive in silence for a while, over potholes and around turns, driving until New Jersey is just a place in the rearview mirror, until Julian is all but a memory in the back of their minds. 

* * *

Julian calls about a week after Isak leaves and begs him to come back. 

It’s just after 7 in the morning when Even wakes to Isak’s sobs. He’s in the living room, asleep on the couch, but Isak’s cries are so loud they surpass the boundary of the door. Even is up and alert in a second, sleep gone, and bursting into his old room. 

Isak’s on the floor by the window, hand outstretched, sobbing as hard as he fucking can. He doesn’t tell Even to go, to get the fuck out, but instead reaches for him. Eyes pleading, face streaked with tears, breath ragged. 

“Please,” he whispers and Even crashes into him, holding him tight, ferociously, as Julian screams from the opposite side of the telephone. 

“You don’t have to talk to him, Isak,” Even whispers. “He doesn’t deserve it.” 

Isak just weeps in response, but Even’s there for him, holds him together as Julian tries everything to get him to come back. 

“I’ll kill myself, Isak!” Julian screams, loud enough to ring Even’s ears. “I’ll do it if you don’t come back!” 

Isak shakes his head, grieving and in pain, and says, “I can’t come back! You know I can’t.” 

“Please or I’ll do it! I swear to fucking God I will!”

“He won’t,” Even says calmly. “He won’t. Hang up, Isak. Hang up and block him.” 

Isak just shakes in his arms, blinded by his agony, as Julian screams and shouts. 

“Come back, please! I’ll change! I'll never hit you again, just, please, Isak, please! You belong to me! Come fucking back!"

Something in Isak changes. Something in the way he’s holding himself, back arched, bent over, arms clutched to protect himself, that shifts. 

He sits up, arms taut, breathing quaking, fist clenched so tight in Even’s shirt it tears. 

Even doesn't know what Julian said that sparked the change, that caused Isak's view to shift so suddenly, but he's grateful. Isak is strong enough to resist, strong enough to get over the sick, abusive fuck. He can do it. 

Even can feel it in his heart. 

“You’re mine, please, baby, come back to me. Please. I don’t know what I’ll do if you don’t.” 

“I will _never_ come back to you, Julian, and I never belonged to you!” Anger. That’s what changed in Isak. “I’m...I’m a person, not an object. I...I deserve better than the abuse you put me through! Don’t...don’t come fucking looking for me, because if I ever seen you again, I will fucking kill you. I will fucking kill you for what you did to me, you abusive, self-absorbed, narcissistic asshole! I don't deserve any of the the shit you fucking put me through. None of it!” 

Isak, brought to anger finally, hangs up in his face and Even feels pride rip through his chest like knife blades. It’s so painful to bear. 

Isak takes a shaky breath and finally turns around, meeting Even’s gaze. His eyes are red and his face is streaked with tears, but he looks strong. Decided. 

“Isak?” 

“I’m all good, Eve,” he rubs at his face, still breathing shakily. “All good. Just...is it fucked up that I miss him?” 

Even swallows hard and says, “No, Is.” Even if he does think it’s fucked up. 

“Fuck.” Isak coughs to clear his throat. “I just...He called and I answered and he was crying and threatening to kill himself if I didn’t come back...I wouldn’t do that...I can’t. I don’t know if I would ever have the strength to leave again.” 

“It’s very hard,” Even whispers, feeling helpless as he holds Isak and strokes his hair. “I can see how hard it is. But you're so strong...you always have been." 

“Thank you,” Isak whispers as the rising sunlight shines a halo around both their bodies, coating them in gold. “Thank you so much.”

* * *

Isak finds a shrink by the following week. 

Julian doesn’t kill himself, just like Even predicted. Julian is a coward, a liar, and a manipulator. 

Sometimes dying for love is beautiful and romantic, but Julian's love for Isak was nothing like that. Romeo and Juliet dying for one another, a tragedy that could have been prevented, that’s nothing like what Julian did to Isak. Nothing. 

So Even knew Julian would never kill himself. Even if he had, not a big loss to society. What’s the absence of one abusive fuck going to do to an already abusive world? Nothing. 

Even’s back to sleeping in his bed again, back to the soft press of a mattress and the long stretch of his legs, because Isak’s bed finally comes in. 

They’re roommates now, for all intents and purposes. It’s a great arrangement, because they’ve lived together before. The only different things are they don’t kiss anymore and that Isak is a bit on edge still. Even imagines this is from the abuse, so he just tries to assure Isak that he won’t be mad if he leaves a plate unwashed or if his jacket isn’t put away. Tries to be there for him when the fear and panic shake his body like tornado winds. 

Once he starts regularly seeing his therapist, he starts looking brighter. Apparently she’s a “Godsend”, which is high praise from an atheist. 

Isak also finds a job only a few short months after moving fully into the spare room in Even’s apartment. He’s part time at a bookstore down the block, enjoying his days spent in between the pages, awaiting customers and drinking hot coffee despite the baking July weather. 

It’s good. It’s all so good that Even keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the fallout. Something has got to happen, right? 

Something big and explosive to finalize the entire thing?

He keeps waiting, months and months and months, until school goes back into session and he’s too busy to worry about inevitabilities. 

Isak’s starting to look like the man Even used to know, smiling and bright and funny as hell. Smart, too. Being around him hurts, but in a good way. Like remembering something that he used to care about with everything he had, that was taken away. 

Some time near Halloween, almost six months since Isak’s brave departure from his abusive fuck of an ex, the other shoe finally drops. The inevitable happens. 

Things change again. 

Even comes barreling in the door, bag clutched in his hands, phone pressed to his ear, tripping and stumbling until he gets his coat off as he talks to Jonas on the phone. 

“Yes, yes. I’ll tell him you called again. You know how he is with the phone, J.” 

Isak’s become detached from the device, mostly out of spite for the tabs Julian kept on him for so long. He leaves it at home more days than he carries it, which makes Even nervous only because he could get mugged or something and have no phone to call for help. 

He doesn’t mention this, because he’s sure Isak’s thought about it. Isak isn’t dumb, so Even doesn’t need to baby him, and he refuses to nag him about it. Isak's an adult and can make his own decisions about what he wants to carry around with him. 

“Alright...you still coming to Eva’s Halloween party?”

“We’ll both be there, yeah. Are the costumes optional?” Even toes off his shoes and tosses his bag onto the counter, somehow managing to stay on his feet. 

He collapses onto the couch, winded and exhausted from a day of work, and listens. 

“No,” Jonas says firmly. “Come dressed up or not at all. We’re gonna get wine-drunk dressed as fucking Star Wars characters, so you do, too.” 

“R2D2?” 

“It was a metaphor, asshole.” 

“A metaphor?” Even furrows his brow. “How—” 

_“Whatever,_ English teacher!” Jonas scoffs, laughing a little. “I’ll see you both on Saturday.” 

“See ya.” 

Even tosses his head back to rest on the couch and breathes out as he puts his phone down beside him. Today was pure chaos. 

His students were loud, bold, and didn’t listen at all, which was very frustrating. Then, on top of that, someone ate Even’s lunch from the teacher’s lounge and left him only his carrot sticks. 

He picks his phone back up and scrolls through restaurants, looking for something good for dinner. Perhaps Isak will want to come, so Even waits on ordering in, just in case. 

By the time Isak’s shift at the bookstore is over and he’s walking through the front door, Even’s stomach is gurgling unhappily and he’s hangry. 

Isak’s too busy with the book in his hands to notice Even, but Even, like always, notices him. 

He’s let his hair grow out, so it isn’t short and to the scalp anymore, and his eyes are lighter. He’s as beautiful as the day Even first kissed him, perhaps more so, and it hurts Even’s heart to know they’ll never have that again. 

Instead of voicing anything, Even asks, “Ready for dinner, love?”, when Isak walks into the living room. 

“Where are we going?” He asks, smiling as he sits down beside Even. 

He smells like smoke and wind when he leans up against Even, looking up at him with honest eyes. 

Despite all the time apart, despite all the pain, Even’s still in love with him. Perhaps he always will be. Maybe he's meant to pine after Isak forever, to want someone he can never again have. His destiny might just be Orpheus, forever missing his beloved, his dearest, his Eurydice. 

“Tommy’s?” 

“Perfect!” Isak grins, so close and so far away. “Let’s go, Eve.” 

Isak stands and turns away, leaving Even to wallow in the disgust he feels for himself. 

Isak obviously just wants to be friends, so why can’t Even just do it, too? Why does Even have to have some big, embarrassing, unjustifiable crush on him? Life, while working out alright on the surface, fucking sucks. 

He stands, puts a jacket on, ties his shoes, and follows Isak down onto the street.

* * *

Dinner is fine, but after is better. 

Tommy’s is as it always is, delicious and hot and their favorite. They eat a large pizza on their own, drink two beers a piece, and even enjoy two cannolis. 

It’s overall a great dinner and it mostly fixes what was wrong with Even’s mood. 

It’s afterwards that the Change occurs. That the other foot falls. 

Even’s walking beside Isak, listening to him talk about the woman he works with who only speaks in Portuguese and very broken English. 

“She’s my favorite, because she takes no shit, you know? She’s such a badass. I think I’m gonna learn some Portuguese for her.” 

“Yeah?” Even asks, half listening because he just looks so beautiful, so stunning and perfect and untouchable. 

Even the scar, so obviously present on his face, is perfect now, because it belongs to him. To Isak. To the one person Even's ever loved more than anything else. 

“Yeah.” Isak smiles. “It’d be cool the be the only one who knows what the fuck she’s saying when she’s ranting.” 

Even nods his head, smiling at Isak as they wait at a crosswalk. He looks so beautiful in the light of the setting sun that Even has to stop and look. 

To appreciate him, like an invaluable, irreplaceable piece of art from millennia ago. Isak smiles and a taxi passes, causing bright white light to shadow across his face. 

“You can,” Isak whispers, smiling up at Even. “I want you to.” 

“What?” Even's shocked out of his dreaming, of his pining. 

He stares at Isak with wide, caught eyes, mouth open, stunned. 

“Kiss me, Eve. I’m tired of waiting.” 

Even is. He is speechless. 

“If you want to, I mean,” Isak says in the silence that follows. “Only if you want to…because you shouldn’t feel like you have to...”

The new, updated Isak is different from the old one in many ways and this is one of them. He’s shy sometimes. Timid. 

He blushes where Old Isak would not have. Old Isak blushed in places where the new one never would. 

It’s so fucking adorable that Even is collapsing in on himself and becoming a supernova. Or a black hole or whatever. He never was very good at science. 

“Are you going to...say...something? Or should I just die of embarrassment on the spot?” 

Even smiles, a delicate and breakable thing, and steps forward. He holds Isak’s face between his hands, remembering how he did this exact thing so many times before, feeling so old and so different from the kid he was back then. 

Isak has changed, too, of course. Time has worn them both down to sand, whittled them both into something new. 

"Of course I want to," Even whispers, feeling his heartbeat in his ears, his fingertips, his chest. 

He has wanted this for so long it's like he never stopped. From the first time Even saw Isak, from their first conversation, Even was destined for this. Fated for the end. Bound to this intelligent, sexy man for all of time. 

When Even leans forward to kiss Isak, it might as well be their first one. A restart, a continuance, a finale. A new beginning. 

"That was nice," is what Even says, still so close that their mouths touch as he speaks. “Thanks, Adam.” 

“You’re welcome,” Isak says softly, grinning. “Now kiss me harder, Eve.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you guys think! see you next time!


End file.
